


Promises

by AnonymousPumpkin



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/F, Vinh Shepard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-28 06:16:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7628266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousPumpkin/pseuds/AnonymousPumpkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vinh leaned in, kissed her surprisingly soft. They embraced, and Ashley held her so tightly that it felt like the dust in their bones and the atoms in their skin were pressed into one being. They were together in that moment, truly, and nothing could tear them apart.</p><p>Five moments, from the beginning to the end of Shepard and Ashley's relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promises

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Cal's back at it again, posting old drafts they wrote like two years ago! This was actually written for Femslash February last year, but I never posted it on here. It's on Tumblr though. This was written as five separate one shots, but they're way too short for me to post individually so here you go. I didn't really edit it as thoroughly as I normally would have, because it's midnight and I'm very tired.
> 
> Also, like...to defend the fact that I have written almost every Mass Effect fanfiction with Vinh, please know that I played through Mass Effect TWICE with Vinh. The first time, I romanced Thane and Samantha, and, in my heart, Ashley. Everything was fine and dandy, until I lost all my save data in a freak accident that haunts me to this day. The second time I played, I fucked up a lot. I accidentally romanced Liara, a bug killed Miranda, and I ended up with too few EMS to get the Synthesis ending. This was written before that, back when ME1 was just Romancing Ashley Williams Simulator.

**001**

Ashley hovered beside the Commander’s bedside for hours, unable to shake the feeling that this, like everything else, was her fault. Her hands were clenched in fists so tight that they shook, and she forced herself to hold tighter. She was torn between the desire to scream and the desire to cry. Everything had gone wrong. _Everything_ had gone wrong. When she closed her eyes she saw her squad going down, and when she opened them she saw the Commander comatose from her mistake.

She rubbed at her arms, which did little to soothe the hurt. The pressure only exacerbated the raw burn of her exhaustion and the dull soreness of her bruises. She still ached from carrying the Commander’s body as far as she had; she’d carried her almost the entire way back to the Normandy, had even placed her on this bed herself. She’d intended to help recover the beacon after that, but she’d found her feet glued to the floor at the Commander’s bedside while everyone else moved around busily trying to clean up the mess she’d left them. She’d stood out of the way while the doctor worked, and when prompted had told her everything she remembered. She’d waved her off when she tried to tend to Ashley’s wounds, insisting that they were small. There was very little an extra boost of medi-gel couldn’t fix. She endured the pursed lips and disapproving grunt; until she was certain the Commander was alright, she could go without treatment. The sensation of the scrapes and pains gave her something to focus on, a sharp reminder beyond the haze she’d fallen into.

She watched the Commander’s face intently, searching it for any sign of distress, any sign of wakefulness. For a long time, she saw neither. The Commander slept on, immobile. There were angry red slashes across her dark skin where her helmet had been knocked against her face, and there were darkening bruises all up and down her uncovered arms. Every now and then her breathing would catch or her finger would twitch, but beyond that she was completely still. Ashley memorized her features, the hollow cheeks, the dark freckled skin, and the thin downturned mouth. The Commander had a stern, thin face that was beautiful in a way that was sharp and dangerous. She looked like a weapon more than a person, the perfect personification of a soldier. Her hair was escaping what had once been an immaculate bun, and Ashley had to resist the urge to brush the stray strands back into place. It looked wrong for her to be so askew. She wrapped her fingers tightly around her forearms. It felt like hours that she had been standing there, staring, but when she glanced at the screen on the doctor’s desk, only a few moments had passed.

Quite suddenly, the Commander’s entire body shuddered, and her face spasmed into terror and discomfort. A small cry clawed its way from her throat, and before Ashley could think of it, she was leaning forward with the intent to reach out, to place her hand on the Commander’s arm or face, to quiet her.

Before she could even lift her arm, those pale eyes opened and met Ashley’s, and the floor seemed to fall from beneath her. Shepard pulled herself up as if the entire galaxy was pressing down upon her. She rolled her shoulders, took a deep breath, and soldiered on.

**002**

Ashley felt numb. She expected rage, sorrow, disbelief, but nothing in her heart was forthcoming. She stared out the tiny window at the burning corpse of the ship, of her ship, and she felt nothing. The explosion had rocked the shuttle, ever so slightly, and though they had all cheered at the sight of the last escape pod shooting away from the carnage, Ashley knew that she hadn’t made it out. There was something in her  that just knew, a cold stone in the pit of her belly that kept the hope down. The nervous chatter in the shuttle was grating against her skin, which was rubbed raw and bleeding.

_She’s…_

She didn’t think about it. She _couldn’t_ think about it. Ashley closed her eyes and laid her head back. She cast her mind back, not terribly far back. She needed to think about anything else.

Mere moments ago, she had been half-asleep in a warm bed, woken by a dream that had fled her memory immediately. She let herself fall back into that bed now, limbs heavy with sleep and mind half-drunk with love. Vinh had been in her arms, sleeping soundly for once. She could still feel the ghost of her warmth on the insides of her arms and against her chest. She could feel the tickle of her hair, let down only in slumber, against her throat. She could remember the weight of Vinh’s fingers laced together with hers, tightening ever so often when her dreams upset her. _You’re still here,_ they seemed to say, _we’re safe_. She’d stroked Vinh’s hand with her fingers, marveling at how soft her skin was. They fit so perfectly together, Vinh’s slender figure snug against Ashley’s far broader frame. It was a feeling unlike anything else she’d ever known. The contentment had filled up her chest until she felt like she was going to float away. If she pressed deep enough in her memory, she could even hear the hum of the engines and the quiet rasp of Vinh’s breath.

She let herself stay in that moment for as long as she could. If she put her mind to it, that one moment could stretch into an eternity of drowsy comfort. She could forget everything, deny it as long as possible. Until the escape pod touched down (a rather generous term), she could pretend that this was just another dream, a nightmare she could hide from in the arms of her lover when morning came.

**003**

Shepard was going to take everything she had. After the first night they spent together, full of exploding tension and longing fueled by desperation and the terror that they may not return, Ashley’s every waking moment was spent giving herself, bit by bit by willing bit, completely to her Commander. Shepard already had her loyalty and her respect and, yes, her affection. After their first encounter, however, she seemed to take everything else as well. She took her mind, occupying her thoughts as often as her sisters did, and she took her time, every spare minute Ashley had. She took her wrath, poking her until she exploded and weathering the storm. She took her laughter, dragging it out with ridiculous stories and tasteless jokes and comedically timed clumsiness.

She stole touches as well. Every time they were near one another, Shepard’s hand found its way onto Ashley’s skin. When they talked on the ship, it was fingers brushing against her wrist or shoulder, or if she was feeling brave, a strand of hair tucked into place. When they were suiting up (or down), it was a hand on the back of her neck or shoulder. When they were alone, sitting in her quarters or at the mess hall, it was somehow more innocent: Shepard would press their thighs together or lean with her shoulder against Ashley’s arm or place her hand just so their fingers would brush every time they moved. Ashley, too, craved contact, but she didn’t often reach for her prize. When they walked around the Citadel, out of armor for once, she would fold her hands behind her back lest she reach out. She longed to lace their fingers or wrap her arm around Shepard’s waist, but for propriety’s sake (and the sake of keeping well enough within regs to stay aboard the Normandy as long as possible), she kept her hands to herself.

They didn’t spend very many nights together after the first. They didn’t have the time. Though the initial threat of galactic annihilation had passed, there was still plenty to do: there was cleanup to do on various planets, and some geth that still needed wiping out, and a mercenary group that was acting up and needed putting down. The few nights they had they were too exhausted to do anything more than fall into bed, often still half-clothed, and fall right to sleep. Despite that, Ashley could feel the attraction in her breast solidifying, unfurling into something unspeakable and hot. Shepard’s body beside hers was an anchor keeping her grounded in a place of safety of calm. Even just sharing the same space was enough to make Ashley feel like she was going to burst. When they fell asleep, Shepard would always make a point of turning over so that they faced each other.

Ashley had thought at first that Shepard’s eyes were cold, icy blue and sharp. She couldn’t have been more wrong. All Shepard was was spark and light. When her eyes were half-lidded with sleep and warmth, they were like blue fire, as hot as a star and just as safe. Looking at her was like sitting beneath the rays of the sun until you were drowsy and drunk with bliss, unable to move a muscle. If she stared too long into them, Ashley was sure she would go blind.

**004**

Her lungs were full of fire and broken glass, her skin was a mosaic of raw pain and dull aches, and it hurt so bad just to quirk her lips in a smile. She couldn’t deny Shepard the expression, though, not now. There was pure terror in those ice eyes, a hard line to her jaw that betrayed the panic she was fighting. The last thing Ash remembered before going under was hearing a scream, raw and feral and  broken, as an explosion had made the ground under her feet buck and crumble. There was still dust and ash on Shepard’s armor, streaking her face and hair.

“Never–” Her voice cracked and broke, but within seconds she was not Vinh Shepard, Ashley’s lover. Nor was she Commander Shepard, savior. She was a horrifying mix of both, emotion and authority clashing together in one choked sentence. “Never do that to me again.”

“No promises, skipper.” Ashley tried not to wince. It hurt. “Getting blown up is kind of in our job description.”

Shepard closed the distance between them in two steps, eyes flashing. Her hand came up as if she was going to grab her, but at the last moment remembered where they were. Her fist fell heavily on the bed instead, and she did not so much sit down as crumble. She didn’t look up, staring at her own clenched fist and taking breaths so deep and slow Ashley feared for a minute that she would pass out. When she finally looked up, her eyes were no longer cool steel. She looked so terrified, on the verge of tears she had learned years ago not to shed.

“Never…be careful, Ash.” Her hand twitched into motion, jerkily finding its way to Ashley’s. She laid her fingers on top of hers, but applied no pressure. “I don’t think…I can’t do this without you, Ash.”

“Sure you can. You’re strong, Shepard. Stronger than you think.” _You don’t need me to save the world, skipper._  This she thought to herself, because for all that they both knew the truth, Shepard would deny it. _Not really. You’re strong enough for both of us…for_ all _of us…and you always have been._

**005**

Ashley was the one who proposed. They were in the middle of a crowd, grief still coursing fiercely through their bloodstreams, and she realized she couldn’t bear the thought of a future without Vinh. Even if that future was only a few more days and ended in blood and pain, she needed to know that there was something holding them together, something more than the stolen kisses and silent nights. She needed a _promise_ to hold onto, to get her through the long long night.

She blurted it out in the middle of a totally different sentence. _Marry me._ Vinh had only hesitated a single moment, caught off guard. She’d looked at Ashley with those tired, pale eyes for a single moment, and then she’d smiled.

She hadn’t said anything else. Vinh had leaned in, kissed her surprisingly soft. They’d embraced, and Ashley held her so tightly that she imagined she was pushing them together until the dust in their bones and the atoms in their skin were merged into one being. They were together in that moment, truly, and nothing could tear them apart.

Every loss they suffered had only served to remind her how pitifully fragile what they had really was: they were lovers restricted to private rendezvous and chaste touches, only letting their love bleed through in the most desperate moments. That caution had served its time, and Ashley couldn’t stand it anymore. If… _when_ they lived this damned thing through, she was going to kiss the woman she loved until their lips were swollen and their breath was ragged, and she was going to scream to the entire galaxy that they were bound together by something deeper and more powerful than prejudices, than distance, more powerful even than Reapers. She couldn’t stand every moment they were apart, out of her mind with worry, and she needed this anchor.

Now that she thought about it, she’d never actually _said_ yes aloud…but she hadn’t needed to.

Vinh bought them rings a few hours after Ashley proposed from a little shop on the Citadel, the outer space version of a corner dollarstore. She promised to get better ones when the war was over. They were still sturdy, plain silverish metal with shiny varnish like stars. They were cheap but they were gorgeous. Ashley thought they were perfect. Even though it fit perfectly on her finger (Vinh knew Ashley’s ring size off the top of her head), she wore hers on a thick chain around her neck. It was pressed uncomfortably tight against her chest under her armor, and it bounced reassuringly under her clothes. She developed a small bruise just above her solar plexus, and she was prone to poking it when the despair got to be overwhelming. It was a sharp reminder of the promise they’d made.

_We will get through this._

_We will survive._

_We will…_

They debated actually _getting_ married, but Ashley refused to take that step before the War was well and truly over.

“It’s something to look forward to,” she insisted, stroking her thumb over Vinh’s thin ( _too_ thin, she wasn’t eating, wasn’t sleeping, was wearing herself to the bone) knuckles. “When this is over, that’s our prize. That’s our reward. We’ll have a great big ceremony with lots of lights and booze and shitty dancing.” Vinh’s smile had a sad edge to it, and Ashley made it her mission to kiss it away. “That’s a promise, skipper.” She stared into Vinh’s eyes, trying to reach past the haze of despair that was always there. “Promise me?”

After five kisses, her smile had softened, and Vinh laughed against Ashley’s mouth,  squeezing her hand. “Promise.”

Within weeks, the varnish on the rings had faded and the metal lost its shine, but that promise was still there. Ashley would keep it against her skin until the end of her days. It was a symbol of hope, of love conquering all. At the end of things, that was all she needed.

**Author's Note:**

> When I die, my legacy will be a fucking avalanche of short, shitty Bioware femslash one-shots.
> 
>  
> 
> Perfect.


End file.
